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March 10, 2014 | by  | in Homepage Opinion |
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The Intrepid VC Guilford

“Victor-i-a was meant to fly, so stand up and touch the sky,” sang Guilford, surprisingly in tune. “You know Petersen, I can’t think of a finer woman than Nicki Minaj. She’s strong, inda-pen-dunt, like a wild mare.”

“Should it not be ‘Starships’, Sir?”

“Ah, yes, well ya see Starships don’t really fly, they more sort of ‘float’ due to a lack of gravy-ty, see. That’s the one thing I’m not too keen on, y’know, Miss. Minaj’s lyrics, they do lack a bit of substance. I like to give them more of an edju-cay-shun-al spin.”

Guilford slammed the brakes, parking behind the Student Union Building. They stepped out of the car, in not-quite-knee-length togas.

For those of us just joining us, let me just say that there are two kinds of men in this world. Men with a mission, and men without a mission. Vice-Chancellor Guilford is a man with a mission, albeit a vague, murky kind of one which lead him to the Toga Party, searching for a ‘mole on the inside’, a student who might help him infiltrate the student body. Petersen is his assistant, who is the one who keeps me abreast of their escapades.

“Pass me my Aviators, Petersen.”

“You’re already wearing them, sir.”

“God damn it Petersen, these are my driving Aviators; I need my reading Aviators.”

They made their way around the entrance of The Hunter Lounge and joined the hormonal queue leading up to the door.

“Now, I’ve not bought any tickets, it’s hard to justify it in the budget, so when we get to the entrance just stay cool Petersen, stay cool.”

They got to the door.

“Hello, tickets please,” said the bouncer.

“God damn it, they’re onto us Petersen! Run!” Guilford pushed Petersen inside, and they quickly found themselves amid the crowd on the dance floor.

“What kind of mole are we looking for, sir?”

“Someone alone, someone who doesn’t look overly concerned with what happens at the University. Go survey out that boy over there, Petersen, and make sure you’re casual about it.”

“How do I be casual, sir?”

“Casual people don’t think about being casual, Petersen; that’s what makes them casual in the first place.”

“I shouldn’t worry about being casual?”

“Bloody hell Petersen; yes, you should worry about being casual. I asked you to make sure you were casual, worry about it.”

“Without thinking about it?”

“Precisely.”

“Sir?”

“Petersen?”

“How do I make sure I’m not being uncasual?”

Guilford narrowed his eyes. Petersen scuttled off to the boy. ‘Starships’  began playing, and a girl next to Guilford screamed: “I. Fucking. Love. This song!”

Guilford turned and began to say, “Well actually, Starships don’t really fly, they more sort of ‘float’ due to a lack of gravy-” when he saw her – dancing alone by the door to the balcony, flailing ‘like a Friesian being chased by a bull in November’ he thought. Just the kind of person who had zero investment in anything less than three minutes in front of her, and probably taking one of the -ologies because someone had told her in 2009 that she was perceptive. She had mathematically straight dyed blonde hair.

“Petersen!”

No answer. “Bugger,” he thought, that’s right, Petersen was off worrying about being casual without thinking about it. He looked over to Petersen, when he noticed the bouncer from earlier wading through the crowd in search of them. From the other side, the girl’s friends were returning from the bar. He sauntered up to her.

“Good eve-in-ing, what’s your name?”

“It’s Arcadia-Rae but, you’re fucking old, what the fuck you doing here?”

“Now look here, Arcadia-Rae: this is strictly confidential, but we need someone on the inside, someone we can trust. Is that you?”

The bouncer had seen Petersen and was swiftly walking towards him. Petersen was oblivious, still trying to win over the boy who was attempting to slip away.

“Are those motorcycle boots?” said Arcadia-Rae.

“They’re com-fa-ta-bul and provide support. But there’s no time for that.”

The boy had escaped from Petersen, which was when he saw the bouncer a little too late. He grabbed Petersen’s hair and dragged him back through the crowd out of Guilford’s vision.

“Look here, I just need a yes or no. What do you say?”

“Um, yea, whatever.”

“They’re coming for me. Take my card, be in touch.”

Guilford dashed through the door onto the balcony, and clambered over the railing. He was trying to lower himself to the concrete below when his toga became caught, unravelling him into a pale naked pile below.

Arcadia-Rae and her friends came outside and looked down at him.

“By the way, who the fuck are you?”

Guilford tried to stand but merely groaned and fell back down.

“I’m Guilford, VC Guilford.”

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